


Greg Lestrade

by Musicandjason



Series: Character Development [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Development, Drabbles, M/M, good practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musicandjason/pseuds/Musicandjason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm trying to work on my Character development a bit, This is the first one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greg Lestrade

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my tumblr: http://musicandjason.tumblr.com/ but has been expanded slightly and edited.

Greg Lestrade was not an unfortunate looking man, and his looks did not betray his age. Except on days like today, which had been followed by days like yesterday. He was sitting in his office, in his beaten chair, which had fraying strands of coarse blue fabric which rubbed against his well worn trouser legs. The plastic arms and legs of the chair, and the long since seized wheels threatened to give out any day, and cause the hard working detective to sprawl across the worn linoleum of his office. That would be the day that he walked off the job, retired to a small cabin in the country, and got a dog. A big, shaggy dog that would bark when ever anyone drove down the drive, but would be contented by a pet from the offending party. 

His elbows were resting on his desk, with his white shirt sleeves rolled up past said elbows. It was a distressingly nice shirt, mismatched with the old trousers, but Greg didn’t care. His cuffs were flailed open under the rolls of cloth, and a simple pair of cufflinks rested on his blotter. the blotter was covered with notes and messages from phone calls, ideas on cases, and other things. Like the private notes that Mycroft Holmes would scribble down when he walked into Greg's office when he wasn't there. This month, there was a lone heart, penned by someone that most people would believe didn't have a heart, and every time he glanced at it, he smiled. His silver tie had been discarded hours ago, and was rolled up gently next to the cufflinks. It was a strange tableau, as next to his nice clothing, were the most gruesome photos that Greg had ever been forced to look at.

The photos were what had kept this man in his chair for the last two days, save to go eat a terrible sandwich with old eggs and maybe bad mayonnaise, and sleeping on his battered couch for three hours. Those had arguably been the worst sleep of life, or at least the second worst. The worst sleep could probably be attributed to when her daughter had an inexplicably high fever and had spent two nights in the hospital.  His brown eyes were sunk into his head and the dark circles under his eyes looked almost comically fake. But they were oh so real, and painful. He was sure if everyone wasn't so concerned with the dead girl in the morgue, people would be talking about whether his Husband was somehow abusive. or peripherally abusive. He would pay someone to hurt Greg if he had too. Greg snickered for a second about this, and then remembered this was no time to laugh. His grey hair was messy, and looking just slightly dirty. It had obviously been a mistake to not take a shower two mornings ago, but something far more pressing had existed at that time.

His phone rang. His desk phone, which was strange in itself because not a lot of people used it. It was old and grey, like every nondescript phone, in every civil office in England. “Hello?”

"Gregory, I have let this go 12 hours too long. You need to come home, so you can eat a proper meal, take a shower and sleep in our own bed." Mycroft Holmes sounded concerned in his own way, with a faint waver in his voice that only a few people in his life would have even heard. Greg remembered the first time that he had heard it, directly after he had gotten a call that his Mother had been rushed to the hospital after a heart attack. Thankfully, he had rarely heard it since. 

"I can’t, Myc. This girl…she was so brutally beaten. I can’t shake it. We need to find who did this." He could feel his mind getting cloudy with feelings. Normally, he could keep this under control, but all he could think about was how this could have been Maria. Maria was 16 now. She was dating her first boyfriend (that they knew of), and was currently spending the Summer in Greece at an internship that Greg was sure Mycroft had secured for his Step-Daughter. He was thankful for that, for that one thing. Their daughter was safe. 

"Putting yourself into the emergency because you exhaust yourself will not help that. Please come home. For me." As Mycroft said the last two words he knew it was a slam dunk, as everything he did was for Mycroft. He had moved into a insanely huge home for Mycroft, he wore posh clothes (sometimes) for Mycroft, and he kept the world safe for Mycroft, although that was almost laughable, as Mycroft could end the free world if he wanted. 

"Give me two hours." Greg sighed and hung up the phone, knowing that when he got home there would be a bath drawn and a meal prepared. His solace in this cold ugly world would always be his home. It would always be his Holmes. 


End file.
